Israel
by Angel-with-an-assbutt
Summary: Clint is a gun for hire, and his next hit just may bring on WWIII... Will Coulson and Natasha be able to stop the mercenary in time? Or will they just end up on the list of people Clint is set to take out?


**AN** : Hello! I am back! Life has been crazy but my muse has been clamoring to pick this back up, so here I go! I can't promise regular updates but I will try my best to get this out for you guys! So here's chapter one! I hope y'all enjoy!

 **DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing from Marvel, I only wish I did!

 **CHAPTER 1**

A young man, who appeared no older than twenty, sat underneath the shade of a brightly colored umbrella, a steaming cup of coffee clutched in his hands, despite the heat of the midday sun. He sat with his back to a wall, darkly tinted sunglasses perched on his nose, and a local newspaper spread on the table before him that he was idly flipping through.

To a passerby the young man appeared only as a tourist, enjoying the sights and sounds of the busy market district in Madrid as he sipped on his beverage, but to the man situated in a seat across from the café he knew a professional when he saw one. The older man had been tasked with tailing the young man, and reporting back to his boss, if his boss liked what he heard the young man was going to be pivotal in the events to come.

A dark smile crept across the man's face at the thoughts of the plan that he and his brothers had been working tirelessly for years to implement finally coming to fruition. His dark thoughts were cut short when the young man began to stand up and leave the small café, after several days of watching the youth drink coffee and observe Madrid the man was getting restless.

This was the infamous Hawkeye? The man had been able to quickly locate and tail the renowned assassin for several days without detection now, and he worried that perhaps his boss had been wrong about the young prodigy. He stored the thoughts for later as he tried to keep up with his mark.

The young man was tall and solidly built, and cut through the busy crowds with ease, much to his follower's irritation. After elbowing through a throng of women gathered around a fresh fruit stall the man looked frantically, scanning for a glimpse of sandy blonde hair and finding none. Frustration beginning to seep in the man pulled out a cell phone and walked into an abandoned alley as he dialed a number.

He was bringing the phone to his ear as a flash of black whipped by him, a resounding crack sounding milliseconds later. The man's eyes followed the movement and saw his phone pinned to the building behind him, a single black arrow holding it in place. He whipped around, looking for the source of the arrow when a fist caught him across the face, sending him reeling.

Pain erupted across his face, stars winking in and out of his vision. His assailant didn't pause, instead sending a vicious kick to the man's knee, dropping him to the dusty ground with a hoarse shout of pain. A heavy weight settled itself on the man's chest, and it took several seconds to realize his target was kneeling on his chest, with his bow drawn, an arrow inches from his face.

"Tell me why I shouldn't just kill you and leave your body here for the stray dogs to find?" The voice of the younger man sent chills down his spine, his tone leaving no room to doubt that he would do exactly as he had said.

"I've been sent to observe you!" The older man pushed past the sudden lump of fear lodged in his throat as blood leaked from his broken nose. There was a beat of silence as the archer digested what had been said, the arrow never wavering from its target.

"And who wants to know about me? If they have a contract there are specified ways to contact me." The weight pressing the man into the dirt intensified as the archer leaned closer, the arrow now just a breath away from his skull. "I don't like being followed. So tell me, who sent you?"

"I am part of The Brotherhood, I was sent only to observe and report back to our leader, nothing more, I am only obeying orders." The man rushed out quickly as the cold tip of the arrow pressed against the skin on his forehead.

"You tell your boss if he wants to speak to me he only has to ask, I can be civilized." The grin the archer flashed was feral, and any previous doubts the man had held about the man kneeling on top of him vanished, and he was filled with a sick sense of doom, this kid was exactly what The Brotherhood needed to change the world.

Satisfied he had gotten his message across, the archer got up nimbly and disappeared from the alley before the man could sit up. The only sign he had been there was the cell phone laying on the ground, just a few scant feet from the man, a large hole now in the middle of the screen where the arrow had pierced it.

The man got up slowly, his abused knee swollen and bruised from the attack. Picking up the now useless phone and placing it in his pocket the man sent up a silent prayer. The Brotherhood was poised to change the landscape of the world, it was really too bad the archer would have to die once he completed his mission.

...

"FUCK" The young archer roared as he closed himself into the hot cramped room he had been occupying for the better part of two weeks. He had felt a pair of eyes on him for almost a week now, but had brushed the feeling off as the nagging paranoia he had felt for the past couple months. Turns out, he should have trusted his gut because the guy from the alley? He was bad news. Who the fuck was the "Brotherhood"? The man said it like Clint should have known the name, granted he didn't know the last time he sat down and actually watched the news, so he cut himself a break for that.

He knew all manners of people were constantly trying to contact the assassin known only as Hawkeye. Most were people who wanted political rivals removed, drug lords taken out, or jealous family members taken out of the inheritance picture. Clint barely resisted an eye roll, they were all so predictable, money and power was everything. The only power he needed was himself and his bow, he would never be powerless to protect himself again. He thought back again to the man in the alley, his mind replaying the words over and over again in his head. Why had they been observing him now? He hadn't even been on a true hit here in Madrid, no one knew why he was here, no one could know. One thing had been apparent, the man they sent to observe was not quite the professional he thought himself to be. The slightly pudgy man in dark sunglasses and a suit in the middle of the sweltering Spanish afternoon had stuck out like a sore thumb and Clint had quickly picked up the tail.

He sighed to himself, trying to contain all of the rage that always seemed to be simmering right below the surface, a rage he tried to conceal with his cold and collected exterior. He should have killed the man in the alley and left him to the dogs like he had initially threatened, but he had let the man go with only a shiner on one eye, and bruised knee to show for his encounter with the renowned assassin. Clint mentally kicked himself, he couldn't been seen as soft, but he was far too curious as to who the man was actually reporting to, he should have stuck around in the shadows and followed the man to learn more.

Instead he was stuck here with more questions than answers and still no leads on his own personal quest that had brought him to Madrid in the first place. Haunted green eyes, slightly glazed over from pain floated through his mind and chased away all thoughts of the mysterious tail he had picked up. Those eyes had been far too tired to have belonged to the blonde bombshell he had just viciously fought on the rooftops of a tiny Russian town.

Their breaths had mingled as they danced around each other, each intent on their own survival, but Clint couldn't help the way his eyes had wandered over her body, mentally cataloging the hint of curves that he knew would become even more deadly than her already honed skills as she aged. This girl would be able to slay men with just a look, and by the way he kept getting distracted he may very well be her first on a long list of men to fall. His distraction turned out to be his downfall as she used his momentary lapse of concentration to fly at him, her slender thighs wrapping around his neck and locking down tight. All she had to do was twist those graceful legs and he was dead.

However after long, tense moments she had released him and as he drew in deep lungfuls of oxygen she simply melted into the shadows from where she had appeared, and Clint had never been able to get her out of his head again. Which reminded him why he was in this stupid city in the first place, since that day he had done everything he could to find out more about the young girl who had spared him when he had been done for. However it seemed like she was as good as he was about keeping herself hidden when she didn't want to be found.

But he had finally caught a break, when through his convoluted mercenary network he had heard of a girl, who had been taking down men three times her size, and rumor had it she was working for the infamous SHIELD. Rumor also had it that she had been asking questions about him, trying to track him down, and that wasn't something he had any intention of allowing to happen. So here he was in Madrid, in a tiny, hot, shithole because he knows that he has no business in this city, but he had dropped hints that he was here for business, hoping to draw the girl out and satisfy his curiosity once and for all.

Thoughts kept tumbling through his mind as the archer was throwing his few measly possessions into a bag, the bulk of the bag occupied by various weapons, all jet black and deadly. The last thing he packed was his bow, the weapon was as much a work of art as a functional object, top of the line functionality and maneuverability in all situations. He ran his hand lightly over the matte black surface, the bow had cost him a pretty penny, but it had been worth every damn cent. Taking one last look at the now empty room he paused with some satisfaction, the room looking like it had been unoccupied for months, hopefully whoever this "Brotherhood" was would let him disappear quietly, however his gut told him he wasn't anywhere close to being done with the mysterious group.

...

An old beat-up car pulled to a stop in front of the old marketplace, the sweltering midday heat having driven all but the most determined shoppers inside, giving the normally bustling area an empty feel. The young archer stepped out of the car, attempting to stretch the muscles tight from who knows how many hours he spent trapped in the car, bouncing along long stretches of roads. Clint took a deep breath, taking in the various smells surrounding him, the scent of succulent roasting meat mixing with the scent of goats bleating from a pen nearby.

Antakya, Turkey. One of the last stops before the great stretches of desert in Syria. It made sense that this was where some of the world's most notorious weapons dealers had set up shop. Political unrest was at an all time high in the region, and with the emergence of many militant coups, dealers were making a killing. Clint hoped that his own supplier wouldn't been too busy to accommodate his order.

Pulling his bag from the seat of the car he paid his driver accordingly, thanking him in near fluent Turkish, before turning and disappearing into one of the shops situated in almost full shadow in the corner. A bell rung as the door opened, a clear tone that was almost too sharp for the sensitive ears of the archer. Clint blinked quickly, urging his eyes to adjust to the dark interior. Posing as a eatery of sorts there were tables and chairs scattered about, a few rough looking men occupying one table near the back, all eyes glued to the kid who had walked in the door.

Clint resisted the urge to roll his eyes, it was all so cliché, but it worked. His dealer had been operating out of this dingy restaurant since Clint had found himself in the market for an outdated weapon. Yaser Cevik had carved out a niche for himself in the weapons dealing market, specializing in unique and what some would consider "outdated" weapons. The man's motto? _If it still will take a man's life, it is worthy to be a weapon._ Something Clint appreciated since finding arrows to fit his one of a kind recurve was a feat in and of itself.

He weaved through the haphazardly grouped tables, every step oozing confidence, when one played with the big dogs of the world, one had to act like it Clint quickly found out, there was no room for posers or smooth talkers in this world, there were only doers. The largest of the men at the table stood up, his arms crossed over his massive chest, scars trailing nearly everywhere the eye could see, as he locked eyes with the archer.

 _If you came in for food we're closed for the afternoon_. The man bit out in Turkish, his eyes never leaving Clint's, a clear challenge to stay in his gaze. The archer forced his body to relax even more under the man's gaze, wrapping himself in the icy persona that was the Hawkeye.

 _It isn't food I'm here for my friend. I'm here to speak with Yaser._ He replied in his near perfect Turkish. The man's eyes widened almost imperceptibly at the archer's straight forward reply. Clint adjusted the bag on his shoulder containing his bow, and managed to plaster a bored look on his face. He knew just how important it was to look like he belonged with the group of men, even though he knew if it came down to it, he could walk out of here and leave four bodies behind.

The staring contest stretched out for a few more minutes before the man grunted and gestured to one of the males behind him, who stood up and walked slowly to the back, motioning for the archer to follow him through the doors to the kitchen. Their footsteps echoed on the tile floor, as they moved farther back before stopping in front of what appeared to be just another freezer door, but this one had a small hidden panel with a fingerprint sensor attached. With a flash of green light and a small electronic beep, the door swung open revealing stairs climbing down into yawning darkness, cool air swirling up from below.

Clint started down the stairs, eagerly anticipating talking to Yaser. The man had become a sort of mentor to him, always giving sage advice that the hot headed boy never listened to until it was too late. With his thoughts focused on telling Yaser about the girl, now young woman, who was tracking him he didn't see the hit coming until it was too late, the handgun whipping out and down against his temple with enough force to make the young archer see stars before crumpling to the ground unconscious.

...

 **AN:** So, lots of background development here, I promise it will get more exciting as time goes on!

Leave me a review and let me know what you think so far! :)


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